


They hear the news on the radio

by UraniumRock



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Butch takes care of Duncan whilst RJ heads to boston, Found Family, Other, Sad, made myself sad, my take on why maxson is now elder, nb lone wanderer, really sad, would make sense lore wise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-21 08:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17639018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UraniumRock/pseuds/UraniumRock
Summary: The Lone Wanderer has been missing for weeks, Butch think's he knows why.





	1. His family

**Author's Note:**

> Set about 8 years after the events of Fallout 3.

Early afternoon sunlight streamed through the cracks in the metal walls of Gob’s saloon, listless air felt like a weight in his lungs. Would it kill them to crack open the door, or maybe rip bigger holes in the walls? Continuing to pick at the counter, he lets his mind defocus, lazily grinding his own name into the metal. Feeling the incessant need to fidget, he knocked his legs against his companion. He was _sooooo_ bored. But, he reigned in his initial reaction – rather than being like a child and blowing up, he simply kept on picking at the counter. He wasn’t the boss out here – the lone wanderer was, what they say - goes. If only his 16 year old self could see him now – _basically Lone’s yes man_ , he mentally chuckles to himself.

  
‘’Grave news children..’’ Three Dogs’ rumbling voice cuts through the air as the noise in the bar dissipates to silence.

  
Elder Lyons is dead.

_Huh._

  
The reaction is immediate, it’s as if the energy in the bar has turned on it’s head; animated conversations beginning – others just sitting in shocked silence. He feels a bit vacant, looking towards his companion to see how they felt. The Lone Wanderer had a resigned grimace on their face; they tell him they knew it was coming, Lyons was an old man and he’d just had enough. Butch didn’t blame the old bastard; he can’t even imagine living to be so fucking old– Christ he was something like 80, all the days of his life working for the goddamn brotherhood. _He must’ve offed himself,_  Butch thinks.

  
They discuss what will happen to the Brotherhood now. ’Sarah’, they say, _Sentinel Lyons_ , Butch thinks, is going to inherit the status of Elder, but she’s going to keep herself as the head of the pride.

‘She’ll be the new elder,’ Lone repeats, an edge of pride in their voice.

  
‘And what about you?’ Gob says.

  
Butch stops listening, this was strategic _‘I actually care about other people in the world’_ talk. It’s not like they weren’t including him; he just feels the need to tune out.

  
Deep down, he hates how they talk about Lyons, Sarah, they call her. As much as he would never admit it, he was still jealous.

  
Gob gives them both another round, but he isn’t really looking for conversation right now.

  
_Christ, I’m getting old_ , he thinks. _Whatever; they’re old friends, they can talk to each other without the Butch-man keeping up_ , so he retreats into his head and picks at the lumpy metal surface of the bar absently with his toothpick. The Lone Wanderer knows when to give him space; saying nothing of his lack of attentiveness, they sneak him a kind smile. He melts.

  
Abruptly Butch is pulled from his thoughts, _oh_ , he thinks, _it’s time to leave_.

  
Gob and the lone wanderer lean over the counter and kiss each other goodbye, and suddenly Gob is reaching for him. Copying the actions of his best friend, he leans over and kisses Gob goodbye, too.

They stumble back home, a bit tipsy. The lone wanderer goes to bed almost immediately, on account of the trip they’ve planned for Big Town the next day - they’re checking in on RJ, Lucy and Duncan. Babbling about it before they tuck in, Butch realises he’s going to miss them a hell of a lot when they’re gone. Even if it’s for a few days. At least Lone leave’s him dogmeat now, so he’s not totally alone.

  
He’s not going with them; he doesn’t want to see anyone right now; he wants to _just chill_ for once. Leave the saving of the world to the Lone Wanderer. Instead, he sits and drinks some more, in the eerie silence of their living room, until it is way into the night.

  
So, in the dead of night, he removes the odd square of metal above the jukebox that they’d both frantically cut through one hot night a few years ago, in order to feel the cool breeze on the roof. _God that day was such a nightmare_. The sun had roasted the metal walls of the house all day, to the point where the north facing wall was _fucking melting_.  
He lies down on the uneven roof, and just looks at the stars.

  
It was his favourite, back in the vault. Astronomy. He would stay up at night and pour through all the books they had on astronomy, biology, physics, chemistry. Anything science-y. Over his Ma’s snoring he would read and read and read, then get angry when goody two shoes like Amata and the Doc’s kid would get better grades than him. _Mr Brock had it out for me_ , he thinks angrily, _I didn't ever have a chance_. He wanted to punch that smarmy old man’s lights out.

  
Almost immediately his anger dissipates, and he relaxes against the metal. Back then it would take more than a few deep breaths to take out his anger. Letting it go, he exhales into the mild night air.

  
He’ll ask the lone wanderer to look out for any astronomy books whilst they’re away tomorrow.

  
His thoughts drifted back to the vault. It felt like who he was then, and who he is now - are two completely different people. Letting out a huff of air at the thought that he used to be  _scared of the sky_ \- he continues reminiscing. He would never admit it to anyone except the lone wanderer, but he misses those days. When he could be a pain in the ass without feeling guilty. Before he knew what it was like to put someone else’s life before his own.

  
After a while, half a pack of smokes down, he climbs down from the roof. Putting the metal back into place, he slips past the Lone Wanderer into bed. But he doesn’t settle against his side of the mattress – no, his back collides with something very smelly and very hard.

  
‘Dogmeat get the fuck off of my side of the bed right now or I’m going to sell you to slavers you disgusting fucking mutt’ he growled. Dogmeat grumbled, but otherwise did nothing.

  
‘That’s it! Moira’s been begging for an irradiated dog to do some research on, I better tell her she’s getting one soon.’ Dogmeat jolts and hides under the bed, growling and nipping at his heels as he climbs into bed.

  
‘Fuck you dog,’ he whispers as his eyelids shut.

  
When he awakes, he’s alone.


	2. He knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Butch has some thoughts

It’s been 4 weeks since he last saw them, and _he knows, he just fucking knows_.

What he knows, is that after Lone visited Big Town, they ran into trouble with some ghouls – a hell of a lot of them. Lyons and her Pride showed up, as a support team.

_Since when did The Lone Wanderer ever need a fucking support team_? There’s no way that a bunch of ghouls took them out. _No way_. So there’s only one option. 

_They're dead._

Lone wouldn’t have left him like this. A bunch of ghouls couldn’t kill them. So where are they?

He knows they’re dead, _he fucking knows_. There’s no way Maxson would have given up his aspirations of becoming elder like that, _no way_. Maxson and his fucking scheming, he knew that Lone would oppose him and his anti – ghoul, anti – synth policy. Kill Lone, and nothing would stop him from fulfilling his plan.

His chest feels like someone has pulled his lungs through his stomach. There is nothing but pain.

He drinks the days away. Dogmeat curled up beneath his feet. 

At some point he registers Three dog;  ‘The lone wanderer seems to be taking a time out, and who can blame ‘em? They’ve earned a vacation.’

He doesn’t hear anything else, the radio lays in pieces on the floor of their bedroom, glass everywhere.

One night, he goes up onto the roof, and traces all the things they carved together into the metal. His fingers dip into the deep grooves of ‘tunnel snakes rule’ and ‘fuck the enclave’. Without hesitation he grips his toothpick and with shaking hands carves; ‘fuck the brotherhood’.

 

He awakes to sounds of disapproval coming from down below; it takes him a few moments for his head to stop spinning and his eyes to stop blurring. He looks off of the roof and finds a crowd of settlers looking at a splatter of vomit, so scattered it must have been come from a height.

_Oh shit_ , he thought, _I did that._

Suddenly he erupts in laughter, gut shaking laughter. It’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen, Maggie Creel gagging as she tries to shake the vomit off of her shoes. _It’s fucking hilarious_.

After a while the crowd disperses, and briefly thinks about ordering Wadsworth to clean it up, but he doesn’t. Butch cleans it up himself.  With his sweat – damp shirt clinging to his back, he methodically mops the floor. Almost on auto – pilot.

Upon returning into the house, he notices Dogmeat hiding under one of the chairs and feels like he’s going to throw up again. _I’m sorry, boy_.

‘Oh god, when did you last have something to eat?’ he asks, his voice shaking with worry. Dogmeat just whimpered.

‘I’m so sorry Dogmeat, here you go - I’ll make you something right now, don’t you worry boy, you’re going to be just fine’.

He tries to open a can of pork ‘n’ beans, but realising that it’ll take a while to cook, he hauls his ass down to the Brass lantern so fast he feels like his legs are going to collapse underneath him.

Storming into the house with hot noodles and some warm crispy Squirrel bits he arranges them on Dogmeat’s plate and refills the empty water bowl. All the while muttering things like ‘I’m so sorry Dogmeat’, his voice breaks, ‘it’s all better now, it’s going to be okay’.

When he finishes decorating the plates, he gestures for Dogmeat to come out and eat. It takes a lot of coaxing but eventually, the mutt starts devouring his first meal in days. After eating about half of his meal, Dogmeat stops suddenly. ‘What’s wrong boy?’ Butch trembles, thinking that he’s _fucking killed the only friend he has left in the world by giving him noodles. He’s a dog he can’t digest noodles oh god oh god oh god._

Instead, Dogmeat just nudges the bowl towards Butch, making encouraging noises. He realises that his last meal ended up on Maggie Creel’s shoes. _I’m not hungry though… Shit, why am I not hungry?_

He knows the answer… _you’re grieving;_ a small voice says. Burying that thought, he scarfs down the rest of the badly prepared meal, including Dogmeat’s slobber.

His stomach lurches as he tries to keep it down. Swallowing any vomit that makes its way up his throat, he sits and strokes Dogmeat’s sparse fur.

‘They’re gone, aren’t they?’ he asks no one. Dogmeat whimpers again.

Shaking, he forces himself onto his feet. Pushing down a bout of dizziness, he clambers up the stairs and pulls out the duffle bags that Lone kept under the bed. Each of them filled with caps. There’s easily 10,000 in here. The lone wanderer kept a detailed inventory of everything they owned on their pipboy. Butch had nothing. He was going to have to make one.

Ruffling through the dufflebags, he started counting the caps in piles. It was going to take him all day, but he had to. He had to catalogue everything that they ever collected. He owed it to them.

Thinking about it, he never did much for them. In fact – he was a burden. He didn’t contribute to ‘the greater good’ or whatever the fuck Three Dog always goes on about, he never paid for anything, he wasn’t the nicest of people to deal with, yeah – he could handle himself; anything that even came close to threatening him or Lone got obliterated by his 10mm. But really, he just kind of…tagged along?  If the roles were reversed, and someone was mooching off of him – then he’d tell them to fuck off.

_But they didn’t,_ he thinks, as he twirls a blood - stained bottlecap between his fingers.

By the time he’d gone through a whole duffle bag, he’d counted 7,550 caps. Marking it on his pipboy, he started for the next one. 3 to go. He wonders if each duffle bag had the same amount of caps in. Probably, Lone was so… _thorough_ … they never left anything half done.

It didn’t matter how many caps there were, he just wanted to touch what they’d touched. It made him feel like they were still here.

Suddenly a wave of emptiness overwhelmed him, as he looked at the bed they shared. Gripping the thin fabric of their blanket, he twisted it around in his fist.

_What happened to their body? Were they thrown in a hole somewhere, to rot? Fed them to ghouls? to supermutants? to mirelurks? to feral dogs? Did Maxson incinerate all evidence of The Lone Wanderer?_

Hiccuping back angry tears, he aggressively started counting caps again, his jaw clenching and unclenching.

Maybe this was payback, or karma. For every time they’d left a body they’d wasted to rot under the sun, or killed a raider so high they couldn’t see straight. Every time they’d done something that would seriously question their reputation as a ‘goody two shoes’.

_It hurt._ It hurt more than anything he’d experienced. _He needed them_. He’s nothing without them, not even a sidekick.

The next bag had 7,549 bottlecaps. One of them was too bent to be considered valid. 

He marked down on his pipboy that they had about 22,550 bottlecaps in their inventory. That would last him and Dogmeat a good few years, maybe even a decade. That is - if no one decides that Megaton is an easy target, when eventually everyone realises that the Lone Wanderer isn’t here to protect the town anymore.

Not that he was good at thinking about things like this but with Lone dead, Butch guessed there’d be a power vacuum in the wastes. Yes, Maxson will try and fill Lone’s boots, but Butch can’t see the wasteland let that happen for long.

Thinking about Maxson made Butch feel vomit creep back up his throat. _They’d been friends._ He remembered what he looked like as a snot nosed 10-year-old, crushing over Sentinel Lions. The Lone Wanderer looked after the kid, played with him, gave him comic books. And he’d gone and done _this._

Butch _hated_ him. He wanted to march down there and avenge his best friend. It didn’t matter if he got absolutely destroyed by the brotherhood – he didn’t care. Maxson needed to pay.

What stopped him was the picture on their bedside table. It was the Doc – James, and Lone, when they were about 10? He guessed. A lump formed in his throat at the smile on the Doctor’s face, and the passive happiness on his best friend’s. He was so mean to them that day, he remembers how much his fist hurt after he punched them in the face.

The last time he’d seen James, was about 6 months before he left the vault. Butch had paid the Doc a visit after having a – disagreement – with Wally Mack. The fucker had nearly broken his nose. _His perfect nose!_ Butch ran to the Doctor’s office, as soon as the blood started gushing, he didn’t want to ruin his pretty face. When he told the Doc this – he’d just rolled his eyes and let out a puff of air.

‘You need to grow up sometime, Butch.’ He’d said.

‘Fuck you, fix me.’ He’d replied.

Oh he _missed_ him, more than he’d like to admit. For a second he was struck with the thought that maybe, they were together again now. This awful hiccupping sobbing bubbled it’s way to the forefront of his being and he quickly tried to bury it.

_What next?_ He thinks, trying to distract himself. Inventory…weapons and ammo.

Moving into the spare room, he looked upon the arsenal they had grouped.  Shelves stocked with ammo boxes, pistols resting on top. They’d moved the couch downstairs a while ago – to make room for their stockpile of heavy weapons. Apparently, Lone had the sense to actually write down what was in here, on a clipboard hanging from a string.

Butch didn’t have much use for them, he couldn’t hold a lot of them properly, and his aim was average at best. Locking the door sadly, he took a step back.

So, he had enough caps and guns to last him a lifetime. But no one to share them with.

Briefly, he thought about putting a bullet through his skull, but the whimpering animal caught between his legs changed his mind.

‘I couldn’t leave you, bud. We’re in this together, now.’ He said, softly. Dogmeat yapped a response that sounded like an agreement.

‘Who do we tell? Do we tell Gob? He’ll tell the whole town and then we’d have an army. Do we march down to the citadel and just fucking waste everyone?’

Dogmeat yawned.

‘You’re right, mutt, we’ll sleep on it.’

So he clambers into the empty, cold bed. The springs squeaked as he settled himself in the far end, up against the wall. Pulling Lone’s pillow to his chest, he breathes their scent in, and pretends it’s them. His heart _aches_. He’d never, in a million years, thought that he’d be the last man standing – he always thought that they’d be alive…forever? He hadn’t pictured his life without them in it, he hadn’t even thought about it. He feels a weight next to him, and for a split second he thought that this all had been some bad dream, and that they were back. But then a wet tongue lick at the tears splattered over his cheeks, and it’s just Dogmeat.

‘It hurts,’ he whispers.

Dogmeat whimpers, and cuddles up to him.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> f


	3. following in their footsteps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he's gonna barber the hell outta ur feelings

The next morning, he wakes up to the sound of frantic knocking.

‘Goddammit! Let me in!’ a familiar voice shouts. Butch jumps up and runs to the door.

Quickly opening it, he was met with the devastated face of Robert Joseph Macready. In his arms, was an unresponsive Duncan.

‘Where the hell are they?!’ He screams through tears, pushing past him and looking around.  ‘Are you fucking kidding me? They’re out? Where’ve they gone? I need them NOW.’

Butch still had his grip on the door knob, too shocked to speak. Nothing felt real.

‘Butch I swear to god; this isn’t the time to be having a fucking panic attack. Did you guys break up or what? Is that why they’re gone?’ Macready strode over and shook him by the shoulder with his spare hand.

‘You’re freaking me out, man.’ Macready said, his voice no longer a shout.

Slowly, Butch turned to look at him. He found his voice, but it didn’t sound familiar.

‘What’s wrong with him?’ he asks, gesturing to Duncan.

‘Fuck! He’s got some virus or something, look he’s not doing anything,’ Macready shook his sons arm and Duncan did nothing but let out a small gurgle in protest. ‘I’m having to force feed him everything, and hold his mouth and nose closed so he doesn’t throw it back up.’

‘I’m really scared; I’ve seen cases like this before. They either end up …dead…, or, or fucked up.’ His voice broke.

Butch tried to wake himself from the stupor, and took Duncan from RJ, who immediately started pacing around the room.

‘So I was thinking, you guys take him to the brotherhood and get him fixed up by the scientists there, and you’ve probably got some connections with good doctors. You guys can sort him out, and it’ll all be fine.’ Macready turned to him, his eyes desperate. ‘Right?’

Stroking Duncan’s curly hair absently, Butch thought he could use a haircut.

‘Where’s Lucy?’

Macready let out a little yelp. ‘She’s….’ He took a few shuddering breaths, ‘she’s dead. Ghouls.’

Pulling lightly on the wispy hairs at the nape of Duncan’s neck, Butch said, ‘He could use a haircut.’

Visible anger welled up in Macready, ‘What the fuck, man? Did you not just hear a word I said?!’ His voice cracked, ‘my wife is dead. _Dead._ And my son might be next. I _need_ your help.’ He pulled his son back, ‘Where. Are. They?!’

Laying Duncan down on the couch, Macready took a few menacing steps over to him.

‘What the hell is wrong with you? Are you high?’ Macready took a bewildered step back, ‘you’re high, aren’t you?’

 _Finally_ , Butch’s brain caught up with what was going on.

‘I’m not high,’ he says with a clenched jaw. ‘and I can’t help you.’

Macready gave him an incredulous look, ‘Why not?’

‘Listen, I’m sorry about Lucy, but you have to leave. I’m not like them. I can’t help you.’ His voice sounded strange.

‘Can you please give me a straight answer?!’ Macready practically yelled, frustrated beyond belief.

Butch looks at him, into his eyes. He remembered the Mayor of Little Lamplight, confidence and pure cockiness oozing from the little shit. Butch thought he was the coolest fucking kid he’d ever met. They’d struck up a bizarre friendship almost immediately, with help from the Lone Wanderer. Every time they’d make their rounds to Little Lamplight, Butch enjoyed banter with the kid. When it was time for RJ to go to Big Town; they’d waited for him outside (so not to embarrass him in front of the other kids, because he was a mungo now – he didn’t need anyone’s protection.) They went to his and Lucy’s wedding, which was boring. And they’d been there for Duncan’s birth, which was also boring, but at the same time, very distressing. Butch had felt uncomfortable with the whole thing, but the Lone Wanderer had loved RJ and his family. Butch felt… a certain degree of affection for them. So he decided, that Macready deserved to know.

He sat next to Duncan’s unconscious figure on the couch, and gestured for Macready to sit on the free chair.

Macready must have sensed that this was something he needed to sit down for, so he quickly perched on the armchair in front of him.

‘Come on man, you can tell me.’ RJ said, almost softly.

‘They’re dead.’ Butch said, bluntly, not looking at Macready at all – but at the stuttered rise and fall of Duncan’s chest.

‘Wha…’ Macready said, in shock. He blinked at Butch a few times, before realisation dawned. And tears began to form in the young man’s eyes.

‘No…. I can’t believe it.’ He said, sadness dripping from his voice. ‘How did… how…’

‘Maxson.’ Butch said, reaching over to fuss over Duncan’s curls again.

‘I don’t understand,’ Macready said, his voice weak.

‘Maxson killed them, them and Sarah Lyons, so he could be the elder without any opposition. You know how they felt about Ghouls and Synths, being in the railroad and all. They saw them as people. There’s no other way Maxson could persuade the brotherhood without Martyring them.’ It was the most he’d used his voice in nearly 4 weeks, and his throat felt like it was closing up.

‘Jesus.’ Was all Macready said. Silence stretched between them. The only sound was the rasp in Duncan’s heavy breaths.

‘Oh fuck!’ Macready jumped up suddenly, ‘what are we supposed to do now? How’s my son going to get better without a doctor, a good doctor who knows what they’re actually doing?’

Butch racked his brain for things that the Lone Wanderer had mentioned. Anything that could help RJ. _Come on, come on_ , he thought. Cursing his terrible memory, he brought a shaky hand up to his hair. Suddenly, as clear as day, he heard their voice in his mind. _The Institute, that’s where Doctor Li is going,_ they’d said, after they’d came back from the Citadel one day.

‘RJ, there’s a place called ‘the institute’ up North, in Boston. That’s where the good doctors are, and that’s probably where you’ll find something to help him.’ Butch said, laying a hand on the toddler’s chest.

Macready let out a little whimper, ‘How do I know he’s even going to last that long? The journey alone might kill him.’

‘You go. I’ll stay here with him.’ Butch says, before he’s even thought about it.

 _Yes, Butch._ A voice – Lone’s voice whispers in his head.

Giving him an incredulous look, Macready took Duncan in his arms. ‘He’s just lost his mom; I can’t take his dad away from him either.’ RJ said, blinking back tears.

‘Then I’ll go,’ Butch said, standing up and grabbing his pack. ‘You can have the house. I don’t need it anymore.’

‘No, Butch, I can’t ask that of you.’ Macready said, laying a hand on his chest. RJ paced for a few minutes, rocking his son back and forth, obviously thinking it over. Butch looked at Dogmeat, who was lay on the stairs, giving them a concerned look.

Letting out an almighty sigh, Macready said, ‘Okay. I’ll go.’ He held Duncan tighter, ‘I’ll go,’

‘I’ll pack you a bag.’ Butch said, disappearing upstairs, into their bedroom. He took a few moments to gather himself. _Jesus, Butch, you’ve really fucked yourself up this time. You can’t even take care of yourself, let alone a sick kid._ However, when his eyes met with the Lone Wanderer’s in the picture frame, he knew what he had to do.

Collecting a few pistols, and a hunting rifle in his pack, he also added his walkie talkie. The Lone Wanderer and him used to talk over it, whenever they’d leave him for a few days. He spent the first few nights after they left trying to signal them – every moment hoping that they’d give him a sign that they were alive.

His gut flipped as he pushed the receiver button one last time. A shred of thwarting and twisting hope glimmering in his gut that Lone’s voice would reply, hearty as ever.

There was nothing but static.

Burying that deep into his pack, he also added rations of purified water, and a few preserved meals. A pencil and a pad – in case he needed to write anything down. He added one of the many maps that Lone had drafted – this one went as far North as Baltimore. Stuffing a sock full of caps in there for good measure, he considered what else RJ would need. After a moment of deliberation, he also added one of the Lone Wanderer’s hats; a brown cap.

Bustling down the stairs, he put the pack near the door.

‘Now, there’s a walkie talkie in there, set it to this frequency, and we can hear you over my pip boy radio. Take this route, travel away from Big cities. Remember to drink at least one bottle’s worth of water a day, and if you feel weak, sit down.’ Macready nodded, taking this very seriously. ‘RJ, good luck. I’ll take care of Duncan until you’re back.’

‘Butch…. Thank you.’ Macready said, giving him a one armed hug. He turned to his son, who’s eyes were half lidded, and barely there. ‘Listen, Duncan, daddy’s going to be gone for a little while, you’re going to be looked after by my good friend, Butch. He’s the leader of the tunnel snakes, and he might even make you one if you’re a good boy!’ He started rocking him, his words coming out shakily,  ‘when I come back, I’m going to have something that’ll make you all better. I love you, Duncan. Say bye - bye!’ Macready took his hand and shook it to say bye.

Handing the toddler to Butch, Macready sighed, ‘Okay, okay… I’m really doing this.’ He shrugged on the pack and opened the door.

‘Look after my kid, Butch.’ He said, eyes on Duncan. Starting to leave, he stopped suddenly, ‘oh, and Butch.’

‘Yeah?’

‘It’s not your fault.’

‘Yeah.’

The door shut. And they were alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Genuinely, where else is Duncan? WHat farm??????? He's obvs with butch


	4. check up

On the first night, Macready radioed them just after midnight. Telling them he’d stopped off just above the Republic of Dave, and was spending the night wedged between 2 rocks. Butch held his pip boy against Duncan’s cheek, so the kid could listen to his dad’s voice. He seemed to recognise it, and let out a little whine, his weak arms and legs grappling Butch’s arm.

The kid was in pain, that much was easy to tell. Every time Butch moved him he’d let out a little scream – he’d even tried rocking him like RJ had, but that just made things worse. Duncan grabbed his stomach a lot, and made the most pathetic of noises. However, when Butch had a look inside his mouth, he found his teeth to be coming through, as well. He’d drained a stimpak and rubbed the liquid against his gums, which made the boy quieten down a bit.

If Butch was being honest, he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. He knew he should take him to the Doctor, to see if there was some sort of short-term solution to all of this. Turning the couch around – so it was pushed against the stairs, he made it so there was no way Duncan could get out - a makeshift cot. He filled his palm with caps and set off out the door – ordering Dogmeat to stand guard.

It’s the first time he’d felt fresh air on his face in weeks, and it does nothing to sooth him. If anything, the ache in his gut simmers even more. Taking a few breaths in order to steady himself, he makes his way down to the clinic. One thing that he hadn’t missed in his time alone– was the stench of Brahmin filth that can be found in the centre of town. Past midnight, the town was almost empty, if not for the stragglers outside the Brass lantern and a few drunks leaving Gob’s saloon.

Butch tried to open the clinic’s door – but it was locked. No surprises there. Hammering his fist against the rough metal of the door he shouted, ‘Doc! Let me in.’

A grumbling shout erupted from inside, ‘fuck off!’

‘I’ve got caps!’

A pause. Then the sound of banging. Abruptly, the door opened a crack, and Doc Church’s sleep encrusted eyes darted around Butch’s body.

‘You better be dying.’

‘I need you to come look at my friend’s kid.’ Butch said, his voice firm. It surprised him.

They stared at each other for a few moments, before Doc Church rolled his eyes dramatically.

‘Oh, you can’t be serious. I am not hauling my ass over to your house at 2:00AM in the morning.’

Butch jiggled the caps in his pocket. Church continued to stare at him.

 _Alright then, if that’s how you want it_. Butch took in a deep breath, ‘Oh my god! You’re that slaver from – ‘

‘Shut your goddamn mouth, boy.’ Doc Church furiously whispered whilst he strapped a hand over Butch’s mouth. ‘Are you trying to get me killed?’ He looked around skittishly.

Shoving the Doctor away, Butch lifted his head in defiance. ‘If you don’t help me, I can shout a whole lot louder than that.’

‘You’re a fucking piece of work.’ He muttered, retreating into the clinic to gather his doctor’s bag. ’Where’s your hero friend, anyway?’ Butch gave a dismissive cough. ‘Whatever,’ Church said, ‘as long as I get paid.’

He locked up the clinic, and the cool night air bit at them both as they made their way to the Lone Wanderer’s home. Butch felt strange, opening the door. Knowing Lone wouldn’t be there. Stifling the shuddering breaths he knew were coming, he showed Doc Church into his house. The Doctor made a bee – line for the makeshift cot.

‘Hello there little man, how are you doing today?’ Doc Church cooed. If it were any other time, Butch would have questioned why the man was being so nice, it didn’t fit into his character. _Maybe the ugly sack of shit actually cared for kids_.

The Doctor picked Duncan up, Butch tried to stop him, ‘No he hurts when you pick hi- ‘

Duncan was nestled firmly under Church’s ear, his face scrunched up.

‘What the fuck?’ Butch whispered.

Doc Church just chuckled. ‘You were probably being a bit too rough with the boy, you’ve gotta be gentle. Like this.’

He handed Duncan over to Butch, and the boy didn’t stir too much.

‘Wow,’ Butch said. ‘Where’d you learn that?’

‘I’m a Doctor.’

‘Alright.’

Rummaging through his bag, he pulled out a notepad, and a few instruments. Firstly, he took Duncan’s temperature, also taking the time to look inside his mouth - and scribbled something down. Next, he looked into his ears, and eyes. Felt around his tummy. Asked Butch what he’d eaten. Pulled his shirt up and looked at the boils littered around his skin. Finally, he listened to Duncan’s laboured breathing.

‘Okay little man, you did so good!’ He said, cheerfully. ‘Butch, could you put Duncan down on the couch, thanks.’

Straightening up, the two men faced each other. Doc Church gave him a sobering look, ‘now what in the hell has that boy been doing?’ he said, in a hushed but harsh tone.

Butch shrugged, ‘Fuck knows, his dad dropped him off this morning and gave him to me whilst he goes and looks for some doctors up North,’ considering Church’s serious tone, he asked, ‘why?’

Doc Church let out a sigh. ‘I’m going to need to run some blood work, but it’s looking to me right now, that this kid could have HIV.’

‘Oh fuck.’ Butch said, looking down at the boy. He’d read about that in Biology. They’d been close to a cure before the War, maybe RJ would have some luck if he raided an old lab. ‘What can we do?’

The Doc shook his head as he processed his thoughts. ‘We’d have to start some ART therapy…but that’ll cost you. Help him get rid of those warts…. You’re going to have to keep him clean, and keep him away from germs and viruses. So you can’t let him outside.’

For a split second, from the most fucked up recesses of his consciousness, Butch considered letting the kid die. He didn’t want the trouble of taking care of a toddler – much less a dying one. Wasting _their_ caps on some whiny kid who’d probably become a junkie and join a raider gang by the time they’re 15. But that little voice pricked at his ear, telling him, _you couldn’t live with yourself_. So he nods at the Doc, who takes some of Duncan’s blood – he doesn’t even flinch _, fuck he really is sick_.

As he packs up his Doctor’s bag, Church extends his arm towards Butch, and lays his hand flat. He wants caps. Butch reached into his pocket and spilled about 35 caps into his outstretched palms. The Doctor gave him a dry look, and Butch rolled his eyes as he fished out some more from his back pockets. ‘You’re a fucking robber.’

‘I’ll be back in the morning with the results.’ Doc Church grumbled on his way out, apparently, his good mood had slipped away.  

And, yet again, he was alone. Not completely alone, he reminded himself, as the familiar weight of dogmeats paw scratched against his boot. And then, Duncan let out a tiny, pathetic sigh.

‘Aw fuck.’ Butch said, out loud. _I’ve got to feed the little bastard._ He thought. _With whatever little kids eat._ He didn’t know how often kids were supposed to eat. He didn’t know what to feed him – if couldn’t feed him certain things because of his illness. He was so _fucked._ He needed help.

Sitting on the couch next to Duncan, he racked his brain for people he could ask to help him – people he could really trust. He thought about Star Paladin Cross, the way she vigilantly defended the Lone Wanderer for years before Butch got his act together. She was family to them.

Struck suddenly by a terrible feeling, Butch wondered if she was dead, too. There is no way that she would have allowed Maxson to go through with this, and if she ever found out… Butch concluded, that she was either dead, or knew nothing of the attack. And he didn’t want to set foot in the citadel to find out. Mentally sifting through other allies, he considered telling Gob about his predicament. _Oh fuck, Gob…still doesn’t know_. No one knew. Everyone thought that the Lone Wanderer was kicking back for a few weeks. _On a vacation_ , as Three Dog had put it.

He thought about Three dog, and the fact that his daily programming used to consist of him brown nosing the lone wanderer. Butch thought it was repetitive and tacky, but Lone enjoyed it very much. Almost every night, no matter where they were – be it huddled around a hastily made camp fire or warmly wrapped up in their bed, they’d sit with their pip boy to their ear, listening to reports about them self. He hadn’t heard Three Dog’s voice in weeks, on account of the radio lying in pieces on his bedroom floor.

Settling next to Duncan, Butch hesitantly tuned his pip boy into Galaxy News Radio, and the familiar jaunt of HE’S HACKING AND WACKING AND SMACKING, lightly echoed through the house. Duncan’s face relaxed slightly, and he rested a little hand against Butch’s arm.

‘Oh, you like that little buddy?’ Butch asked him, quietly. Letting Duncan wrap his weak body around his pip boy.

Duncan seems to settle into a slumber, and Butch can’t help but think of the long road ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well shiver me timbers.

**Author's Note:**

> In all actuality I think we can safely assume the lone wanderer turned into the final pam and destroyed maxson's bigoted ass with all the power in Todd's universe.


End file.
